


Our Bonds Are For All Eternity

by martian_potato



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drifter's time as a Dredgen comes back to bite him in the ass more than he'd like to admit, Eris and Drifter are unlikely friends, Fate & Destiny, Hive Whispers, M/M, Nightmares on the Moon, No Beta we die like Dredgen Yor, The Hive - Freeform, The Pyramid on the Moon, hardy har har
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martian_potato/pseuds/martian_potato
Summary: “Drifter,” Eris greets over the transmission. “You need to come to Luna; you must see this.”“Like hell I do,” he grumbles back as he watches the Gambit match going on. Red team needs to step up their game next round if they want to win.He hears a frustrated sigh. “It pertains to what...theyshowed us.”Drifter tenses, frozen for merely a second before putting his care-free persona up front and center. It’s a good thing Eris can’t see him over the transmission, can’t see the way his hands have started to shake despite his clenched fists. He knows his silence is telling enough. He flicks on the AI commentator for the match and turns away from the screen. “Is it—?”“Yes,” she interrupts.“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Low key obsessed with these two and their complicated as fuck relationship. So here's a Shadowkeep era fic. I headcannon "Germaine" as Drifter's...not necessarily True name, but the one that means most to him? Because it was the one he had when his life path was kind of defined. Also, the two's relationship is really just mentioned...but it heavily revolves around trust.

“Drifter,” Eris greets over the transmission. “You need to come to Luna; you must see this.”

“Like hell I do,” he grumbles back as he watches the Gambit match going on. Red team needs to step up their game next round if they want to win. 

He hears a frustrated sigh. “It pertains to what... _they_ showed us.”

Drifter tenses, frozen for merely a second before putting his care-free persona up front and center. It’s a good thing Eris can’t see him over the transmission, can’t see the way his hands have started to shake despite his clenched fists. He knows his silence is telling enough. He flicks on the AI commentator for the match and turns away from the screen. “Is it—?” 

“Yes,” she interrupts. 

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

—

He takes his smaller ship, hoping to stay under the radar of whatever wandering guardians there might be. Didn’t need them to know he and crazy moon lady were on speaking terms, were connected by paracausal beings better left ignored. Leaving the Derelict and Haul in Earth’s orbit only leaves him feeling more uneasy, more on edge, than he thought he would. He never had any desire to go to the Moon, never wanted to see the empire the Hive built. It took him long enough to drown out the whispers when the Hive were on the field during matches; he can only imagine what being in their fortress will do to him. 

He lands the ship on a strip of empty land near the coordinates Eris gave him, sighing at the dusty landscape spreading outside, and opens the door. 

His ears start ringing immediately, head echoing with whispers, ancient chants, taunts, hauntings (all about hope, hope, _hope_ ) filling up what little headspace is left after all his own terrors. 

_This is your knife. A knife shaped like [hope]_

_[trust]_

_[farewell]_

_Use it._

He’s not even a foot on the moon and he can already feel the blood slowly start trickling out of his ears and the ache settle behind his eyes. 

He clenches his jaw at the itch, fingers dancing idly around a coin and the handle of Malfeasance as Eris eyeballs him from across the way. He can tell she’s looking at the blood now sluggishly making its way down his neck, but she doesn’t make any move to comment, for which he’s grateful. 

“Who’re your friends?” He asks, motioning towards the five red, faceless figures hovering around her. 

She grimaces and turns slightly. “Part of the reason why you are here.” Turning her glowing eyes back towards him, briefly flitting down to look at the his neck, she finally answers. “They are nightmares. Of my fireteam, lost in the Hellmouth.” 

His brain races, connecting what little dots there are, trying to fit puzzle pieces in place that aren’t there. “A defense mechanism?”

She pauses in her creation of a portal. “You will see.” 

He almost misses the three floating figures in his peripheral as he follows her into the portal. 

Walking below the lunar surface does nothing to ease the whispers; if anything, they become worse, louder. The deep, empty feeling in his chest only grows the further they walk, not helped by the presences he can feel behind him. 

Cresting over a set of stairs, he finally lays eyes on the Pyramid. 

A cold sweat has started to bead along his forehead and neck as the emptiness he’s grown so accustomed to becomes nearly overwhelming. What’s in front of him is proof that his visions from the Nine are true, that the next doomsday, the next collapse, is right around the corner. 

And loathe as he is to admit, that scares him. 

“So it’s true,” he whispers, clenching shaking hands into fists. 

“It seems the Nine warned us for a reason,” she answers. “They’re coming, and we must stop it.”

Something inside him snaps. “We? Nah nah, sister. I’m getting the hell out of dodge before this thing calls it’s back up and wipes us all out.”

“The Nine showed us for a reason, rat,” she spits. “Whether we want it or not, we have a role to play in this upcoming war.”

He turns from her, from the ship, rage and desperation bubbling inside him as he makes for the exit. He doesn’t need no goddamn portal to get out of this hell hole. He’ll find the way like he always does. 

A nightmare floats in his way, stopping him cold. It’s whispers, in that familiar baritone he’s grown to listen for in the Tower like a broken hearted lover, replace those of the Hive still causing his ears to itch.

Shin’s not dead, he knows he’s not, he’s seen the asshole with his own eyes around the Vanguard. But after, _after_ , he might as well have been. 

And then there’s another, floating somewhat behind it. A female Titan with a familiar Mohawk and heavy war hammer, presence weighed by loss and anger. 

And then another, smaller, a mere child, hovering low near his hand, whispering “I can’t feel anything. Germaine.”

“Germaine?” Eris questions. 

“That’s not my name,” he spits out, not moving any further. He glances at the nightmares again, Orin, Yu, and finally Shin pleading, _Germaine_ , a glare, _Drifter_ , to understand that he _had to, okay? Yor made me see that this is what needed to be done. I didn’t want to lie to you—_

He exhales harshly against the barrage of words, clenching his eyes and shaking fists as the whispers start back up. 

_He had hoped Eaton, and Yu, would make it out of the deal just fine._

_He had hoped Orin would see that the Nine would do nothing but carve her out until she was a husk._

_He had hoped for trust with whatever was burning between him and Shin._

_Hope never did anything but burn him back._

“When they come,” he grits out lowly, cursing himself for feeling, what, pity for the lady? He didn’t know. He just felt as though walking away without offering any olive branch would only bring about bad luck. He hadn’t made it this far by not listening to his intuition. “You know where to find me.” 

“Thank you,” she whispers, relief obvious in her tone. 

He doesn’t look back before transmatting back to his ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadowkeep era confrontation between Shin and Drifter, the first one after their falling out. Future chapters will be about leading up to present day.

Word spreads of the nightmares extending beyond the Moon. Drifter doesn’t bother to confirm it, thinking of the tendrils of red slinking into his vision whenever he goes underground at one of his arenas. 

The whispers haven’t stopped either. 

Before, he could drown them out. Either with his own paranoia, with Gambit, or with Shin. But with the last (best) option gone, he’s left with two that don’t even make a dent in whatever’s going on inside his head. It’s a constant buzz that gets worse in waves, before retreating into background noise. 

Whenever Hive are on the field, it’s almost as if Drifter can understand the ancient language, as if they form sounds he knows the meanings of said in the same baritone of a renegade hunter ( _of the Dredgen Vale_ ). That’s when he knows they’re getting worse. He’s getting worse. 

There’s only one person he‘s willing to talk to who has a semblance of an idea of what he’s going through. He doesn’t think Moondust is open to visitors. He also doesn’t want to see the Nightmares the Pyramids conjured for him again. This leaves only one option. 

He establishes a secure frequency and hails her, ignoring the churning in his stomach. When the comms click to life, he licks his lips in anticipation. 

“Three Eyes,” he drawls out over the comms, mouth quirking in a smirk at the indignant huff that answers him. 

“What do you want, rat?” 

“What? Can’t give my favourite lunatic a call once in a while? Can’t just check in?” 

“No.” He lets the line stay quiet for a bit, listening to her soft breathing over the whispers that still crawl behind his eyes. “Drifter, why are you calling?” She asks with irritation. 

“How do you do it, Moondust?” He finally asks, ignoring the slight tremor starting in his fingers. “Deal with them?” 

She stays quiet, as if she’s surprised at his inquiry. “The nightmares?” 

“Yeah. I know they talk to you.”

“Incessantly,” she mutters, but sighs not long after. “What you and I experience are two different beasts.”

“Of the same nature,” he fires back, clenching his hands in his lap. “Created by the same thing to...” he trails off, unable to finish whatever he almost admitted. 

She hums in acquiescence. “It is my fireteam that haunts me,” she says lowly. “I have found that talismans, things once used by them, are enough to keep the Darkness at bay, to dissipate their voices.” She pauses and he hears her rifling through something. “I do not know their effectiveness against the Hive’s whispers you hear, as they are manifestations of the Darkness’s children, not the Darkness itself.”

“Hmm,” Drifter clenches his jaw, thoughts swirling in a chaotic haze. How did Eris never experience this during her time in the Hellmouth surrounded by those same Hive bones adorning his hidden Thorn, encasing that empty ship floating in orbit around Earth? The same Hive bones that allowed those whispers to slither into his mind and burrow? Would silly things such as talismans be enough to shove the whispers back far enough he could ignore them?

“Why now?” She finally asks after Drifter makes no move to speak further. “Was it the Pyramid?” 

He snaps out of his thoughts, unclenching his jaw and grimacing at the soreness now echoing through his mouth. His neck just below his ears itches. “Thanks for the input, Three Eyes. Be seein’ ya,” he lets out before slamming the frequency shut. He hesitantly raises his hand to touch below his ear. 

Dry. 

— 

He knows there’s no talismans for him, nothing left behind by the people he’s cared most about, nothing to give him reprieve from the Darkness’s words. Nothing except the infrequent calls between him and good ol’ Moondust, discussing the Darkness, the Pyramid, the Hive, the future. 

They’ve established a routine, almost. Something that he’s found himself appreciating more than he cares to admit. What’s between him and the Guardian, a semblance of something that could be called trust, isn’t something he’s willing to put on the line with frequent check ins. But with Moondust, he almost gets a kick out of bugging her every once in a while. And if he’s making the calls half the time, well that’s between him and her only. It’s only during their talks that the whispers fade beneath his annoyance and cynical interest in what she has to say. 

And slowly, so slowly he barely notices it, the whispers fade out. It isn’t until he runs into Shin, face to face in his own Annex room, and notices the dried flecks of something dark on the hunter’s neck, that he realises he hasn’t heard them in weeks. 

“Malphur,” he spits out, Malfeasance pointed directly at the hunter’s head. 

“Drifter,” Shin says softly, hands staying high in a show of peace. 

“Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts in a while,” he says lowly. 

“Haven’t been invited.” 

“Probably for good reason.”

“Hmm.” Shin reaches forward, slowly, until his hand grazes Malfeasance and pushes it down so it’s not pointed at his face. Drifter curses himself for letting him, but doesn’t raise the gun again. He’s still soft for the man. “We need to talk, Drift.” 

“Nothing to talk about,” he mutters, holstering the gun and turning away. 

“I know what’s coming,” is blurted out when Drifter reaches the door to his area in the Annex. “That they’re coming.” 

He feels his shoulders tense in response. Checking the hallway, he slams the gate shut and turns back around. “What are you talking about?” 

Shin levels him with an unamused look. “I saw the Pyramid on Luna. I hear it, from the—“

“So what?” He interrupts, not wanting to hear about Shin’s hypocritical entanglement with the Darkness. It only serves to bring up memories of their last encounter. He can still hear the pleas for forgiveness ringing in his ears, the deep ache and nausea that made root in his core at the betrayal of trust. “Shouldn’t you be telling that to someone who cares? Like _Bane_?”

He watches the hunter clench his fists and bite his cheek. “Drifter,” he sighs out. “I didn’t come here to--” he cuts off with an inhale, looking physically ill at holding back his irritation. “You’re the only one who _knows_.”

“Is there a point to all of this? Or did you just want an excuse to see my pretty face again?” He sneers at the hunter.

Shin’s mouth twitches at the comment before steeling itself back into the usual frown. “You’re the only hope the City’s got.”

Drifter feels every muscle in his body clench. “Well, that’s a damn shame.”

“If you keep acting like this, it will be.”

His eyebrows draw up in surprise and he lets out a scoff. “That’s a load of shit coming from you.”

Shin finally seems to snap and Drifter has to hold back a satisfied grin. “Stop playing coy. I came to you so we could make a plan, like we always do, to prepare. To survive.”

“Like we always _did_. Important distinction there,” he feels his hackles raise. “I want no part in whatever plans you’re brewing in that fucked up mind of yours. Because guess what? There is no ‘we’ anymore, Malphur. You threw that out the window when you lied to me.”

“Like you never lied to me?” Shin scoffs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You can’t expect trust and not give it in return. That’s not how relationships work, _Germaine_.”

He flinches back at the cutting tone of his name. “I never lied to you. Not in any way that mattered.”

“It all mattered to me.” Shin rubs at his brow, eyes creased in pain at an oncoming headache. “Look, I didn’t come here to hash out all our problems. I came here to plan. You were shown what’s coming before any of us. You know how to fight it.” Drifter stays quiet as the hunter continues. “You’re the only one who can show the way.”

The Emissary’s voice echoes in his head. _Keep playing the game._

“Why can’t you just do it, if you’re so keen on this?”

“You know why I can’t.”

“Ah,” Drifter smirks. “Your perfect reputation. Can’t tarnish that with the truth, huh?”

“When you’re ready to talk, you know how to find me,” Shin shakes his head, turning to head out. 

Drifter feels just how soft his heart is for the broken man in front of him as he watches him leave. His will crumbles when Shin opens the gate. “What’ve you got so far?”

It’s an olive branch, albeit a small one. Shin’s face softens from its angry frown to something more thoughtful. “You got any food? It’ll take a while.”

“Don’t push it,” he snaps playfully. “You can have some tea.”

Shin nods lightly and follows Drifter to the back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drifter's gettin real tired of receiving gifts and is also an unreliable narrator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written well before Beyond Light trailers were released and were my thought process on how the Darkness powers were given...guess I was kind of close! Anyway, enjoy some more uncertainty.

Drifter eyeballs the cot in the Annex holding a certain hunter while he makes his next cup of coffee. Rubbing exhaustion from his eyes, he goes back to the containment mechanism he had crudely put together at the beginning of the night. 

They had spent hours discussing how to properly wield both the light and the dark without fully succumbing to the dark. Who would be worthy, who wouldn’t. 

Their favourite Guardian already held tainted Light from the shard in the EDZ, so they saw no issues there. It would be other Guardians, chasing after their heroes, going too far too fast. 

Drifter knows too much about that. 

Shin‘s eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion after he had finished the dinner Drifter had reluctantly served. And one too many large yawns caused Drifter to corral him into the one cot for the night. 

“Traveler knows the idiot could use the sleep,” Drifter mumbles to himself as he jimmies off one of his old mote stores and fiddles with the wires now sticking out. There’s a Gambit match starting soon and he contemplates what to do with the currently snoring hunter.

He leaves for the Derelict before he makes a decision.

—

The Nine contact him in the middle of a match. 

He’s in the middle of hooting and hollering at the latest invader, who took out the whole team and then some on spawn, when he’s lurched into empty space. 

“Dredgen,” a familiar voice drawls.

“Oh hell no,” he grumbles, standing up in the not-water. “Send me back, you lunatic. I don’t have time for this!”

Her unseeing eyes stare into the nothing behind him. “The Nine have plans for you, Dredgen. You are their key.”

“Like hell I’m not!” he yells out, jabbing an angry finger at her. “Tell your friends to leave me the hell alone!”

“Accept this gift,” she begins, unseeing eyes shifting to focus on him. He feels a burning pain enter his skull. Just before he blacks out, he hears her finish, “And use it wisely.”

When he wakes up, his Ghost is staring at him with a concerned red eye. However, it makes no move to get close. 

He glares at it anyway. “You didn’t call anyone, right?”

It shakes its small body no.

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Fuckin Nine,” he grumbles and gets up. “Anything new around the place?”

Another no.

His frown grows deeper. What gift was she talking about?

—

Weeks later, almost long enough for him to push the vision from his mind, Eris calls to tell him that the Guardian has entered the Pyramid on Luna.

Drifter shouldn’t be so shaken by it, but he can’t help the skin-crawling feeling that he’s being watched at all times, more than usual. His eyes never fail to fall on to the Moon any time it’s in the sky while he’s scouting and clearing arenas. 

He waits, though, until he’s given the Guardian a good eyeball. Other than the clenched jaw and dark circles, she looks unfazed. It’s her Ghost that flits about restlessly, its voice holding an undercurrent of unease.

He waits though, because that’s what he’s good at. He waits for a sign, another vision, anything to push him in a direction that’s not _away_. He isn’t surprised when Shin visits him while he’s working on one of the newer arenas. He can hear the man’s purposeful steps as soon as he enters the area and only shifts his Trust to a better position to draw while cleaning out useless wires from the old bank.

“Drifter,” Shin speaks lowly from behind him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He sighs and stands, groaning slightly at his stiff knees. “I’m not a hard man to find.”

“You’ve been leaving the Tower more often.”

Drifter turns slowly, hand resting on the handle of his Trust. His first instinct is to deny. “Only the usual amount.”

Shin hums in dissent, but seems to drop the subject. “About that night—“

“No need,” Drifter grunts out. 

“Thank you,” Shin says forcefully. The silence stretches on, only the sounds of the forest and distant Fallen camps breaking it. Shin shifts, awkward, before breaking the silence. “There’s a group of Fallen scouting this way.”

“So what? You want to take ‘em out? Like old times?”

Shin’s eyes shift down, eyelashes casting a shadow on his cheeks from the light of his Ghost. Drifter swallows at the sight. “It would be easier…”

Drifter shifts his Trust to a more secure position and pulls his Breakneck from its sling on his back. Shin’s not smiling, but the lines have eased. “Lead the way, then.”

He follows the hunter through the dark, their Ghosts shining only minimal light to avoid as much Fallen attention as possible. He sends a furtive glance to the star filled sky, glad that the Moon hasn’t come out yet. He nearly bumps into the hunter as he stops suddenly with his hand in the air. Soft sounds can be heard to the left.

They make quick work of the vandals and dregs, Shin’s hand cannon going off in a steady _pop pop pop_. Two marauders try to sneak up on him, but he burns them with a flick of his wrist. Ignoring Shin’s raised eyebrow, he continues forward to try to find the captain surely lurking about.

A roar sounds behind him followed by the grunt of his companion for the night. He whirls around, catching the site of the darkness spilling from Shin’s side in his Ghost’s light right before he ignites the Captain into ash. Rushing over, he stops short when Shin rights himself and brushes himself off carelessly. The hunter glances up at him, confusion sparking his features as if getting stabbed in the gut didn’t just bring back so many memories to Drifter, of them in the Ascendant Realm with no light, no healing, just fighting—

The sky lights up and he’s on his knees.

The Moon is innocently sitting in the sky, shining over the Earth like usual. Only the pull he’s been feeling is multiplied tenfold, as if someone had tied his stomach to a sparrow and is trying to drive off with it still attached to his body. He feels Shin crouch down next to him, knows he’s saying something but can’t hear anything over the rush of blood and ringing in his ears. He looks at the Moon, at the crack in it.

His gut lurches and tells him to _go_.

He stands shakily, pawing off the hand Shin is using to steady him and summoning his Ghost in his hand.   
“—you going?!” He faintly hears, but he knows Shin is almost yelling.

He turns back, trying to control his manic expression at the sight of Shin recoiling slightly. He can’t help but to blurt out, “I gotta go to the Moon.”

“The Moon? For what? Now?”

“I gotta—I gotta go—” he cuts, feeling as though he’s going to shake out of his bones. He can’t keep his mouth shut, can’t try to keep this under wraps. It’s almost as if someone’s doing the talking for him. He hates that it’s Shin here, Shin witnessing whatever’s happening to him. Hates that he’s the only one he trusts to see him like this, under the influence of the Pyramid. “Do you trust me?”

Shin hesitates, and that’s answer enough. 

He doesn’t look back as he transmats away.

He lands his transport ship right outside one of the gates leading into the underground and descends without a second thought. The whispers start slithering in his ears immediately, but he’s able to ignore them enough to continue on. The restless unease fades the deeper he gets, the closer he gets to it. Rounding a corner and picking off some Acolytes and a Knight with Trust, he eyes the looming Pyramid.

_You came._

His stomach clenches as the voice reverberates in his head. “What d’you want?” he calls out.

_We’ve been expecting you, our Key,_ it speaks. The voice rings, and although it seems quiet, it hurts his ears. _Enter._

He crumples as the last word echoes around his body. He feels sick. Something pulls at his gut from the side and he is helpless but to look. Wavering fog floats in the air and towards the Pyramid. Red nightmares float aimlessly. _Go on._

Heaving himself off the ground and dry heaving at the effort, he follows. The nightmares don’t speak or form anyone he knows, for which he’s grateful. 

_Welcome, Dredgen. Enter and accept your gift._

His headache spikes and causes his stomach to roll harder. “I’m getting real tired of getting gifts.”

_Your survival is essential. These things bestowed on you are what you are owed. What you will need._

Drifter feels his body get pulled off the ground and towards the Pyramid. Dark energy pulsates around him. His head hurts.

The hard floor in unforgiving when the energy deposits him inside. He can see the dirty footprints the Guardian left behind on the shiny floor and decides to follow them. The place is a maze and is so dark he can’t see past 100 feet, and loathe as he is to admit it, he’s scared. His hands shake as they reach behind him to pull out Malfeasance. He glances at his shoulder where his Ghost usually floats near and frowns at its dim red eye and drooping sides. He opens the pack on his back and lets it drift into it, shutting it with an irritated frown.

He rounds a corner and runs straight into a nightmare, its red tendrils caressing his skin and leaving burning cold in its wake. There’s a few more lurking behind it. He recognizes some of them as his crew he took to the edges of Sol. They block his way.

“Hey now,” he raises Malfeasance slightly, adjusting his stance. “Don’t want no trouble—“ he’s cut off when a shot is fired and hits his shoulder. 

He grimaces and dodges out of the way, popping off a few rounds and taking down two of the five surrounding him. One gets too close with a knife and he sends it back with a flare of solar, burning it into nothing. He sinks five rounds of Malfeasance into the next one that charges him. He’s lost the last one, and as he turns to look, an arm circles his neck and traps his airway. 

“Didn’t think you would get to just go on living while we were all dead, did you?” it whispers into his ear. “Did us and our Ghosts in yourself and all. Weighs heavy on a man.” 

Drifter panics and lets his body heat up with solar power, blinding himself with the heat until the arm disappears. He lets it dissipate and glares into nothing. “You got real shit bedside manner.”

_These are your trials._

His head pounds. “I didn’t agree to no trials,” he grumbles. He opens his pack and stares at the blinking red eye. “Let’s get out of here, this ain’t worth the effort.”

His Ghost continues to blink slowly. No answer.

_The only way through is forward._

Drifter curses and shoots a glare around the room. His shoulder smarts. “Can you at least fix this?” he asks his Ghost, who’s eye lights up slightly and he feels his shoulder heal. He closes the pack and reloads Malfeasance. Everywhere he looks is blurred by fog.

_Keep going._

A light shines down the hall. He glances behind him into the encroaching black before continuing forward. He wishes Shin was here with him.

The next room he enters has a pulsing red mass in the middle. It has a familiar cloak and gun at its side. He curses himself for wishing.

“Always knew you’d go too far,” it speaks, loading its gun and looking relaxed. “Had to stay close to make sure if needed, I could take you out.”

Drifter sneers at the Shin nightmare. “A long time coming.”

The Shin nightmare laughs, fingers twitching on the trigger of the Last Word. No, the Thorn. It’s a Thorn in his hand.

Drifter swallows what little saliva that’s left in his mouth and clutches Malfeasance. He can’t outdraw him. He’s gotta take him down alone.

He conjures a protective shield of solar on his skin, letting the heat settle and burrow deep. He just needs to survive whatever Shin shoots long enough to let his super get him. “How we doin this?”

“You tell me, Germaine,” Shin smirks, twirling the Thorn over and over. “Either we do this the easy way, or the long way.”

“Don’t call me that,” he spits back.

“Okay, lover,” a sadistic laugh responds.

He feels the solar shield solidify fully and summons what’s left of his light into his hand. It takes too long, feeling the fiery bullets start to dissolve the barrier on his skin, but he sends off the blinding white light towards the nightmare still shooting at him. He feels the first bullet break the barrier and embed itself into his stomach as the light engulfs the Shin nightmare. Luckily, it’s not a golden gun bullet but a Thorn one. 

The nightmare screams as it dissipates. Drifter crumples to the floor as the bullet starts spreading its poison. The blood dripping out of him is tainted black.

_You are strong. There is beauty in strength. As there is destruction._

Drifter feels his throat tighten. He coughs and nothing comes out. 

_Violence will always find you. But we will be there to stop it. What has the Light ever done for you?_

His ears start ringing. He doesn’t have the strength to wipe off the wetness dripping from them. Flashes of moments start sparking in his head. Yu’s limp body, Lord Felwinters empty stare, Orin’s wet cheeks, Yor’s haunted ship, Shin’s clenched jaw and tight eyes.

_You are worthy, Dredgen._

He blacks out.

—

When he wakes, it’s to something cold being pressed to his forehead and light humming. He does a quick body check, somewhat surprised at the lack of pain in his abdomen. His head feels like it was stuffed with cloth. He opens his eyes only to slam them shut again at the spike of pain.

“Careful,” a familiar female voice chides. He hears a click. “Try now.”

He does as she says, opening his eyes slowly to the dark surroundings. “Three eyes?”

“Rat,” Eris answers from her perch at the desk across the way. She resumes writing in something. 

“Why am I here?” he grumbles, shifting to sit up. 

“I found your body near the Abyss. You were unconscious, but extremely warm. I brought you here to cool you down.”

“And find out why I was there.”

She hesitates, “Yes.”

He huffs a laugh. “Was just checking things out.”

“And your lack of consciousness?”

“Nothing important.”

Her three eyes finally narrow at him. “Drifter, speak the truth.”

“I am—“

“No, you are not.” She sighs, “Where the Darkness is concerned, we must work together—“

“I went inside,” he grits out, finding a cup of something on the side table and drinking it. Water. Boring.

Her entire body clenches. “You saw…?”

“I heard,” he emphasizes. “Sure, there were some Nightmares that wanted to play games, but it wanted a chit chat.”

“But your Ghost—“

“Yeah,” he confirms, grimacing at the pain peeking through the cotton in his head.

“It spoke to you. Directly.”

“Uh huh…”

“Drifter,” she says with weight. Her body stays clenched and her hands twitch. “It speaks through things, like Ghosts, actions, nightmares.”

His mind races, thoughts a scattered mess of Nine, Emissary, Darkness, the Shin nightmare. The gifts. His hand rubs at his forehead to try to ease the tension settling behind his eyes. 

“What are you not telling me?” she accuses. Her eyes glow brighter.

“The Emissary came for a visit again,” he starts off. “A while ago. Said I was a key. Said the Nine had another gift for me.” He grimaces. “Like the haul wasn’t enough.” He pauses to rub his eyes. “Gave me a killer headache but didn’t say what it was. After, it was like that Pyramid was calling to me. I had to see it again. And it brought me inside.”

Eris stays deadly still throughout this, holding her breath.

“It talked to me, in my head. Said it had a gift, that I was their key, that I was worthy, that I needed this for the future. What it was talking about, though, I have no clue.”

“Drifter,” she finally speaks. “Give me your hand.”

“Hey, hey now! I know I’m hard to resist, but I don’t feel that way—“

She doesn’t wait for him to finish, grabbing his hand and spreading the palm. “Conjure the darkness.”

“What?” he exclaims, ripping his hand back to his body. “Look, if you wanted some motes, all you had to do was ask—“

“No,” she snarls, grabbing his hand again. “Don’t use motes. Conjure pure darkness.”

“That’s not possible,” he says softly. 

“I know, but do it.”

He gives her a confused glare before focusing on his hand. He thinks of the feel of his motes, the never-ending chill of the Derelict, of that planet, of those creatures, of his haul. He thinks of the loss of Shin, the loss of Light during the war, the echoing chill of that Pyramid.

His hand is grey with not-ice.

Eris jerks her hands away, staring with wide glowing eyes and mouth slack. 

He doesn’t move, watching the numbing darkness consume his fingers and twinkle in the low light. He lets it dissipate, clenching and unclenching his hand to bring feeling back to it. He glances at Eris, who still looks surprised. Concerned. Forlorn. Theres a sadness about her he doesn’t want to delve deeper into. “I didn’t want this.”

Glowing green eyes flit up to meet his, but she doesn’t comment on that. “It said you were the key? Like the Nine?” At his nod, she turns. “In this coming war, it will be us teaching the Guardians to wield the Darkness, to use it against the Pyramids. That is what the Nine envision. But the Pyramid contacting you? Giving this to you?” She hums, hands grazing over her many journals. “I think it wants to fully bring you onto its side. For you to entice Guardians to give themselves over.”

“Makes sense.”

“You must not.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Three Eyes.”

She hums in dissatisfaction. “To avoid unnecessary concern, this will stay between us for now. At least on my end.”

“Good,” he sniffs, hauling his still aching body off the cot. He makes to leave, but stops at the door. “Moondust, I—“ 

_I can teach this to you._

_This can replace your lost light._

_I can help you._

“I’ll be seein’ you,” he mutters, finally exiting her home and transmatting to his ship.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me at Tumblr as martian-potato if you ever wanna talk!


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